


get with u

by spells



Series: diary 001 [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Drunkenness, M/M, Party, Recreational Drug Use, Songfic, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-13 21:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16479791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spells/pseuds/spells
Summary: and all i want to do is get with you





	get with u

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone! sorry for the lateness, didn't have wifi for the last couple of days. but, i wanted to post this asap, as its my favourite part of the series!! i hope yall like it as much as i do!
> 
> this work is part of series! it probably can be read by itself but it works better if you read all instances. either way, enjoy!  
> title, summary and prompt come from clairo's song, get with u  
> huge thanks to bee for being an amazing beta, check her out at [livennadin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livennadin/pseuds/livennadin)  
> content warning for, as said in tags, underage smoking and drinking

kuro and the team bought him a pack of menthols for his sixteenth birthday. he smoked one that day, the bitterness fading into a soft minty taste that burned his throat –  _ you can squeeze that part and it’ll be citrus-y _ , kuro said. besides that, he kept the pack closed and in its one-missing almost-fullness, stuffed in the bottom of his drawer.

he opens it over and over again, just to feel the soft click of the box against his fingertips. it’s cold, he thinks, pulling a cigarette out. it dances between his fingers, daring, and he slides it back.

kenma looks up, his friends’ figures barely visible underneath the poor, soft lighting. everything’s kind of blurred, hazy, unfocused. he can tell apart where koutarou’s almost melting into kuro, sides fully touching. where keiji sits, legs dangling over the countertop, swaying back and forth. where lev touches morisuke’s fingers, counting them and losing count as soon as he’s done.

something envelops all of them, wraps all of them in a warm blanket.  _ the night sky,  _ his brain provides, but he waves the cliché away. one of his hands falls, fingers spreading through the grass, stealing dew from the leaves. he can’t feel his body, feels lost in the darkness, doesn’t know where his skin ends and the air begins. his head slides across the wall behind him as he tilts it to the side, and stares at his own hand.

leaving the pack of cigarettes in his lap, he tugs his phone out of his back pocket. even though the night’s cold, a numbing feeling that allows him permanent goosebumps, his phone is freezing. he glides his finger across the screen and it comes to life, the glow so harsh he immediately squints. he has new notifications, one he taps and opens.

from shouyou, 10:23

_ hey kenma!! i forgot to tell u!!! im gonna be in tokyo 2day and 2morrow so if u wana hang out just hmu!! _

from shouyou, 10:23

_ i mean im here with my mom and natsu so … idk if i can go but!!!!! _

from shouyou, 10:25

_ i could check whether we can hang out!!! _

he’d forgotten to read those. he’s spent almost half a day without talking to shouyou, and that seems so awfully unreal, so terribly fake, that he still doesn’t answer. just closes his eyes, drops his phone, and pokes at the fire that blossoms in his chest, folding outwards of itself.

that’s a pain, he thinks, mentally groaning, a rusty spring. he should deal with it; find a way to put out that fire inside of him before it burns him out, pops the life out of him. so much smoke and ash, he wouldn’t find himself amidst the destruction. he has to figure something out for the life of him, can’t keep feeding the fire these tiny sticks that somehow help it grow.

kenma stands up, feels the coil inside his limbs loosen. he walks towards keiji, and looks up.

“hi,” keiji says.

“hi,” kenma replies. he walks around the counter and starts looking behind it, opens the mini-fridge’s door and immediately finds what he’s looking for.

he pulls out the mostly-finished bottle of vodka and slowly unscrews the cap.

“you’re drinking?”

he looks at keiji. looks back to the thick glass bottle of cheap, bitter vodka, something he’s barely ever tasted.

he screws the cap back on.

“yeah.”

keiji doesn’t say anything else, and neither does he. he takes the bottle out with him, through the front door, and sits right in the threshold. the darkness from the inside hides him, the chaos of shoes right behind him, and he stares out into the empty street.

he doesn’t know how long he stays there; nursing a bottle of vodka he takes mostly a couple sips from, feeling a pack of cigarettes press into his thigh and the weight of not answering shouyou rest messily on his shoulders. he doesn’t know what time it is, or if he’s feeling cold, or what’s happening in the backyard.

the lamppost across the street is burnt. there’s a bit of orange light coming in from his peripheral vision, further up and down the road, but it doesn’t compensate the darkness right here, in front of the house.

his phone’s in his hands. the same three messages blink up at him, innocent, eyes fierce and unshakable.

to shouyou, 23:07

_ hey, do you wanna do something? _

the phone shakes before he expects it to. he thought shouyou would be asleep by now.

from shouyou, 23:10

_ yeah!!!! are we going somewhere? _

to shouyou, 23:11

_ dunno. you can come over and then we’ll see. _

from shouyou, 23:13

_ okay!! lemme just check with my mom!! _

kenma thinks something just shifted, the night taking some crazy turn, the heat holding him hostage. he takes a longer sip of vodka, and it doesn’t burn as much on its way down. the haze thickens.

things are slowly clicking into place, soft ticks that tap on kenma’s shoulders. he won’t look back. he’s having a hard time blinking, and not keeping his eyes closed.

from shouyou, 23:18

_ she said its okay!!! going to ur house!!!  _ _ ( _ _ ﾉ _ _ ´ _ _ ヮ _ _ ´ _ _ ) _ _ ﾉ _ _ *: _ _ ･ﾟ _ _ ✧ _

to shouyou, 23:20

_ ah, i’m not at mine. i’m at kuro’s. it’s just a block further down the street. _

from shouyou, 23:21

_ okay!!!! omw!!!! _

all the weight drips from his shoulders like hot wax, and kenma bobs his head back, lets it drop the most his neck can support. he can see his lashes as he closes his eyes, and it’s funny, so he laughs. he laughs small giggles with all the sincerity one can hold. right after, he curls into himself, and drinks some more alcohol, the warmth slithering down his throat but flushing out to his extremities, his cheeks, his fingers, his knees.

it’s not all that cold, anymore. the night has took him in, welcomed him. it’s beautiful. there are not many stars to see, here, especially compared to sendai. the night’s gorgeous, there; the stars twinkle, like holes in a velvet fabric. there’s that cliché again, he thinks, but doesn’t push it away.

shouyou appears like a breath of summer in the almost winter, a ray of sunlight in the middle of the night.

“kenma!”

and kenma’s hot, hot, hot. he’s burning, everything’s torrid, he’s about to melt.

he stands, letting the open bottle on the floor, blinking protractedly before he falls into somewhat of a smile. “shouyou.”

“it’s, uh, it’s been a while! how are you?”

“just as i was yesterday. i guess,” kenma shrugs, takes a step closer. shouyou’s wearing a hoodie, faded blue in this lighting, and his hair’s a mess. he’s out of breath, kenma notices, watching the part of his lips for a moment too long. his gaze shifts to the red of his cheeks, and back to his eyes. “you?”

“ah, ah, good. just, you know,” shouyou scoffs, and blinks. kenma wonders, for a second, if he’s uncomfortable. the idea doesn’t last, as shouyou falls into a comfier rhythm. “my mom has some stuff to see here, and natsu’s never been, and i thought maybe i should come with, too. maybe i could hang out with you! and it was making me kinda worried, that you hadn’t replied, but it’s fine, i guess. are you- are you drunk?”

kenma probably isn’t. he’s just a bit slower, now, just a bit lazier with his movements. he should probably shrug it off, he’s fine. “maybe.”

“oh. oh, that’s fine. is there- is kuroo-san here?”

“mm, yep. he and the other guys are in the backyard. they’re all drunker than me, if anything.”

“oh, i’ll say hi to them!”

kenma goes with shouyou to the front door, watches as the boy takes his shoes off. his sneakers are destroyed, and it’s cute. he wants to sit down, now, feeling the weight of standing for too long. he should probably take the vodka back to the mini-fridge, since he doesn’t think he’s having any more of it.

he feels the menthols against his leg, a reminder, a message.

“hey,” he mutters as he leads shouyou into the house, bottle in one hand and the other itching to clutch shouyou’s. “do you want to stay here? or do you want to go somewhere?”

shouyou looks over to him, eyes big and clear. the tip of his nose is still flushed a single shade of pink darker than his skin. “i don’t mind. what do you want?”

_ what do i want _ , kenma thinks, heart like molten iron. “let me think for a second.” he already knows.

everyone greets shouyou with a big grin and a shout. koutarou detaches himself from kuro, who seems to miss the presence immediately. lev stands up and wobbles, and morisuke raises to help him out. kenma moves and sits on the counter next to keiji, who hasn’t moved. whose hair’s far too long, covering his forehead and cascading in front of his face when he looks down, down, down.

“are you alright?” kenma asks, offering him the bottle of vodka. he doesn’t know if it’s so he’ll be a guardian, or if it’s for him to drink.

“yeah. peachy.”

kenma’s bad at this, emotions, support. so he pats keiji a couple of times, on the shoulder, and watches the scene that slowly unravels in front of him.

shouyou, bright-eyed, having his life squeezed out of him by koutarou, who seems to be on the verge of tears for whatever reason. kuro just watches the two, one eyebrow raised in mild confusion, but smirk reigning nevertheless. lev’s hands are shaky, jittering, and he looks like he’s about to overflow with things to tell shouyou. morisuke has a hand on his elbow, keeping him back.

everyone wants shouyou’s presence. everyone wants to talk to him; everyone wants to hear from him. kenma pulls out the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, pops the box open and closed, repeatedly. he lets guilt, jealousy and selfishness tug at all the parts of his chest.

“since when have you had those?” keiji asks.

kenma looks up at him. at his eyes, indigo blue. “around a year.”

“can i have one?”

kenma pops the pack open, looks at the one empty slot, and pulls out a cigarette. “haven’t got a lighter, though.”

“i’ve got one. thanks.”

“no problem,” kenma mutters as he jumps off the counter.

shouyou turns to look at him, eyes wide and so absolutely focused. lev’s talking to him, koutarou still has a hand on his arm, and yet – he’s looking at kenma.

kenma hates being looked at.

‘let’s go somewhere,’ he mouths, and shouyou understands.

the boy meets him in the porch. kenma already has his shoes on, one step out the door. he’s looking at the sky. he’s looking at the lamppost across the street.

“where are we going?” shouyou asks, hurriedly pulling on his sneakers.

“i’m not sure.”

that stops him dead in his tracks, and kenma can feel the air stiffen behind him. he looks over his shoulder.

“we’ll find a place.”

there’s so much in shouyou’s eyes, he can’t identify it all. he can’t read it all. they’re so bright, they’re so stark, and the night’s hazy.

“okay,” he whispers, and steps out the door to stand right next to kenma.

there has to be some meaning to this movement, there has to be something behind it. it’s probably a metaphor for something; it probably will make itself clear to him. kenma’s mind tries to process what happened and why it feels like such a big thing, but nothing comes. he takes another step, and another, and shouyou follows.

shouyou follows him out the yard, and down the street. not follows, because they’re next to each other; god, does kenma want to hold his hand.

once they walk into well-lit streets, orange glow and neon signs, everything becomes even hazier, and kenma moves closer to shouyou, although almost imperceptibly. their shoulders bump occasionally, but it’s nothing much. kenma has to blink all the time, because he feels like his brain can’t process it, like it’s too much too fast.

the streets might be well lit, but kenma still feels like he’s lost himself to the void. it’s fascinating.

“do you wanna go there?” shouyou points across the street, to a 100-yen store. that’s certainly well lit, all white fluorescent lights.

he’s clearly the one who wants to go inside it. kenma wonders if there are no 100-yen stores near his house. “yeah, alright.”

the shop bursts with light, the metal shelves reflecting it everywhere, the white floor and walls and ceiling echoing it like snow. kenma squints, but doesn’t complain. he picks up a lighter and a beanie, thin red material that he knows is terrible. he pulls it on, and it hides his roots.

when he finds shouyou, the boy is wearing bunny ears and seems entranced by the party section. shouyou turns, a sunset of pink and orange and brown, his hoodie suddenly vivid and bright. “oh, kenma! your hat’s pretty.”

kenma doesn’t feel the fire, but he feels numbed. he feels like he’s already incandescent. “thanks, shouyou. i like your ears.”

“oh! thanks,” he grins, wide and sweet and sincere. “can you… i mean, i just thought… can you help me pick something out? for natsu?”

kenma can’t help the smile that blooms on his face. “yeah. of course.”

they try everything on, and laugh. their knuckles brush against each other, hands overlapping, as they search the big basket full of party items. they settle for a glittery purple headband and a fairy necklace, pastel and light and everything childhood.

they pay a little over five hundred yen and walk out, kenma knowing his beanie will mat his hair against his scalp, shouyou so confident in his bunny ears. they’re hilarious, and weird, two short teenagers wearing funny accessories and looking flushed from head to toe.

the distance between them is small, and permanent, now. shoulders touching at every step.

they wander further away from kuro’s, walk into less busy streets, and the mood of the evening rolls back in. kenma feels hazy, the adrenaline-like feeling that going into the store gave him washing away. he stops, and rests against a wall, cold seeping in through his shoulders, through his knuckles.

shouyou doesn’t realise he’s stopped, and looks back to look for him once he’s a little further down the street. he walks back. “are you okay, kenma?”

“yeah. fine.”

“you just look kinda… meh? bleh?”

kenma smiles, and shrinks a little. he can feel the pollution cutting into his bones, the city making up every part of him. he wants to hold shouyou a little closer, like he’s a way out, like he’s a protector.

“have you ever smoked?”

shouyou is stunned when he looks at him. if kenma thought his eyes were already wide enough, it’s because he definitely didn’t expect this.

“what?”

“what am i saying,” kenma shakes his head. “you haven’t.”

“i, uh, no. should i?”

“no. it’s bad for you.”

“do you? smoke?”

kenma doesn’t know what to answer. because he doesn’t smoke, present tense. he doesn’t do it regularly, hasn’t done it in a year, and probably won’t ever have a habit out of it. yet, he feels like smoking is exactly what he needs, right now. what he wants to do.

“will you mind if i do?”

kenma’s so good at reading people. it’s what makes him a nekoma starter, his analysing abilities. still, he’s finding it harder and harder to read what shouyou’s eyes, and what shouyou’s face, say.

“no. i won’t.”

unsteady, he picks out a cigarette and grabs the lighter from their bag. he lights the menthol after a couple of tries, holding the flame to its tip and sucking in shortly after. it’s horrible, and he coughs, but he still goes in again.

he smokes half the cigarette in silence, squeezing to get a lemon taste. shouyou’s looking at him and at the ground, taking turns, and he looks bright red. it clashes with his hair, makes him look funny.

“do you want to try?” kenma asks, the silence making him shake. shouyou doesn’t deserve this. he should’ve kept the boy home, or at least shouldn’t have been selfish to the point of dragging him out of a party where everyone wanted him.

“i mean, i guess,” shouyou shrugs, a little dejected, and leans on the wall next to him. he extends a fully open hand, and kenma chuckles.

“no, shouyou, like this.” he takes his hand and molds it slightly, curving his fingers a bit and putting a space between index and middle finger. that’s where he slots the cigarette, filter facing the palm of his hand already, or he knows shouyou would’ve put his lips to the lit end.

“oh.” he’s certainly cherry pink now, and kenma giggles a bit into his shoulder. “do i just? suck?”

kenma giggles more, but tries to hold back. “drag it in, and hold it for a while. you can squeeze here if you want it to taste like lemon, but you should probably get the hang of it first.”

“oh, okay. let me just, then,” shouyou slowly takes his hand to his lips, and slots the cigarette between them. (kenma can’t look away.) he breathes in a bit, pulls the cigarette a little far away from his lips. barely a second passes before he coughs all the smoke out, and kenma finds himself in fits of laughter.

shouyou manages to stop coughing, eventually, but the look in his eyes is such an earnest attempt at a menace that kenma can’t keep a smile from his face. shouyou still looks adorable.

“what was that? that was evil! and, and why is it minty? eugh!”

“do you not like mint?”

“it’s not that! that part was unexpected. the cigarette’s just terrible! why do you like that? are all your standards that low, kenma? am i that awful?”

“no, shouyou,” kenma laughs, and inches closer again. “listen, it gets better. want to try again?”

“i don’t trust it,” the redhead pouts. he looks at kenma. “i don’t trust you.”

“sure. whatever you say. i’ll just finish it and we go home, then, how does that sound?”

shouyou stays silent for kenma’s next couple of drags, but eventually says, “okay, let me try again.”

in his third try, shouyou manages not to cough. it’s clearly an effort, and it’s adorable. once all the smoke has poured out of his lungs, a thick line through his lips, shouyou looks at kenma. he’s bursting with pride, prouder of himself than should have been possible. kenma’s mouth tugs into a smile, because he’s proud of shouyou too.

“good one,” he whispers. they’re close, he realises; their coats touch, and he feels magnetised to be even closer to the boy. it’s bizarre. he can’t make sense out of any of this. it’s so difficult, such a struggle, that he barely tries.

“thanks!” shouyou’s face breaks into a grin, and kenma stumbles a small step back as he takes another drag of the cigarette. his heart tries to warn him, he’s burning himself. his heart’s speaking in morse code, and kenma doesn’t understand it. he tucks the optical illusion, the unsolvable equation that are his feelings, inside a tidy white box, and locks it with a golden key. puts it carefully atop his desk, and leaves. leaves them there, to be dealt with later. it’s troublesome, and cold, but this is so good. how can he be cold when it’s all burning inside of him, anyway?

for a second, kenma worries if he’s being bad. if he’ll regret any of this later. making shouyou smoke, making shouyou be with him in the cutting cold of tokyo nights, making shouyou deal with all this. he wonders if he’s too drunk to care, too drunk to be at least a bit rational.

shouyou inches closer, their hands fit into each other as he steals the menthol, and any uneasiness melts away. hot wax.

they finish the cigarette telling jokes, shouyou falling headfirst into a story about his coach and volleyball practice. kenma’s entranced as he watches him speak, feeling wrapped in something so much bigger than him, bigger than them. he doesn’t feel real. it’s bizarre. he’s inside of a dream, an instrumental song, a dalí painting. he smiles, and lurches slightly forward, tilting.

once they fall into silence, kenma turns and presses his back against the wall again, eyes looking around and staring up at the sky. the void he fits snugly into.

“should we head home?”

he shifts and looks at shouyou, sideways. the boy isn’t looking at him, big brown eyes looking at the sky just like kenma had been. he’s so beautiful, kenma thinks. he doesn’t belong here. he’s so much better than this.

_ a work of art _ , the soft voice inside his brain says. he accepts that cliché, doesn’t mind it for a bit.

“i don’t know,” shouyou twists and looks at him. they’re not that close, anymore. something keeps them apart. kenma wants to tear that down with nails and teeth, with whatever it takes him. “what time is it?”

in instinct, kenma checks his wrist, even though he knows he never has a watch on him. it makes shouyou giggle, so he moves to get his phone without even a reaction. the screen is so bright, so bright it feels invasive. the numbers are big and slim, atop a row of white notifications he doesn’t bother to tap into. he looks up at shouyou.

“almost one.”

“we should probably go, then. it’s not super safe to be out here this late! i don’t want to get killed,” shouyou pouts, head tilted, and kenma rolls his eyes with a laugh in his lips. he stands properly, drags his back away from the wall, and feels the fog settle atop his shoulders.

“let’s go,” he whispers, and everything is fascinating.

they’re quiet on their way back home. they’re closer than they’ve been all night, and kenma feels back in a dream, in the void. their shoulders bump, feet almost brushing each other’s. shouyou’s looking down, steps stupid, big and exaggerated. kenma’s fiddling, nervousness in his gut keeping him from getting out the pack of menthols and repeatedly messing with the cap.

he doesn’t know how he’s feeling. he ponders at the possibility of having been burnt alive, shock keeping him intact but body made out of ash. he can’t tell what exactly happened tonight, or why he feels like something did, even if they just hung out like any other time. he watches shouyou walk, brave in his funny stride, and his heart tugs.

kenma’s still afraid. he still has trauma and fear keeping him back, chains wrapped tight and cold against his skin, scratching it red and raw. yet, he feels like he can break out of them if he wants – which is the most bizarre notion, because it’s not that easy. he feels like if he has someone to help, someone to feel the floor until they find the key, someone to turn the lock and set him free, he feels like he can get out of the chains.

he wants to be free so bad. he wants to be normal. he wants to be happy, wants to be full, wants to be good for himself and for someone else. shouyou stumbles next to him, and a knot forms in his throat.

“you alright?” he asks, scared all his earnestness and admiration will bleed through his gaze. shouyou looks up, and doesn’t hesitate.

“yep! just fine,” he breaks into a grin, and twirls to show how okay he is.

they’re home, then. not home, but at kuro’s. kenma walks to the porch, only to realise shouyou’s not with him. he turns around, and the boy’s on the pavement, standing still and looking uneasy, shuffling his feet.

“are you coming in?” kenma asks, walking down the front steps, going up to shouyou. shouyou, with his bunny ears, with his 100-yen store bag, with his faded blue hoodie under the darkness of the burnt lamppost.

“i should probably head home.”

shouyou, who’s looking down, still smiling faintly. kenma feels embarrassed, even though he doesn’t know of what. he takes off his beanie and holds it with both his hands, finally having something to fiddle with.

“do you want me to walk you there?” he asks, uncertainty and anxiety and fire burning, endless, inside of him.

“no, it’s okay. it’s quite close, i’ll be fine.”

“i can take you there.”

“no, kenma. go in there. they’re all probably worried. i’ll see you soon. i’ll text you when i get home! even better, right?”

he’s looking up, all the brightness in his eyes making up for the gloom of the street. kenma doesn’t know how to say goodbye, doesn’t know what to do, so he just breathes. he looks at shouyou, with the sun in his eyes and in his moves, and breathes.

“i’ll get going. i promise i’ll text when i’m home. bye, kenma!”

shouyou starts walking away, and kenma can’t move. he wants to, so bad. it hurts him not to move. he wants to cherish shouyou’s presence like he hasn’t ever done before.

“please do,” he mutters.

shouyou looks back. “huh?”

“please do. text, when you’re home.”

the boy’s grin is blinding, the moon to go with the sun in his eyes.

“of course, kenma!”

kenma watches him walk away. watches him walk past his house, and turn the corner. not without waving to kenma as he disappears.

he walks back inside the house, crosses it and walks into the backyard. everyone’s still there, just as he left them. koutarou’s giggly, now, but still glued to kuro’s side. lev is sitting on a chair, now, but he still has morisuke’s hands in his. keiji’s the same. kenma goes to him and sits on the counter.

keiji offers him the vodka, and kenma takes it.

“where were you? kuro went mama-owl and freaked out. you probably have some missed calls, by the way.”

kenma pulls out his phone, and finally goes through the notifications he’d ignored in favour of shouyou. a few missed calls, more unread texts. nothing from shouyou yet.

“where’s shouyou?”

“went home,” kenma says, quietly, and drinks a bit of the vodka. it burns down his throat, so he gives it back to keiji.

“are you okay?”

kenma looks at him. his eyes, indigo blue. glittering. the night sky.

“yeah. peachy.”

**Author's Note:**

> talk (or scream) to me: [twitter](https://twitter.com/karasunya) | [tumblr](http://gymthree.tumblr.com/)  
> thank you for reading! kudos, comments and bookmarks are, as always, highly appreciated!


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